


Blind Idiots

by Sarren



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, First Time, M/M, Massage, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarren/pseuds/Sarren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An innocent massage leads to revelations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Idiots

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta, zebra363.

“Yow!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Laura scolded him, digging into the muscle even more viciously, it felt like. Lewis groaned anyway. It was a good pain.

“There.” Laura urged him to turn back around with a push on the shoulder, her hand coming to rest over his heart. She patted his chest affectionately. “Better?”

Lewis gingerly flexed his shoulder, sighing in relief when the action didn’t result in a sharp stab of pain. “Much,” he said, smiling down at her. Impulsively, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could help,” Laura smiled, and stepped back.

He caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye and turned. James was standing in the doorway, staring at them with a stony expression. Lewis opened his mouth to ask him what’d crawled up his arse and died, but before he could say anything James turned and disappeared from view. 

“What was that about?” he wondered. James had been quite chipper when Lewis had left him a few minutes ago, poking at his keyboard keys in a satisfied sort of way as he wrapped up the Matheson report. Lewis had been planning on buying him a pint or three to celebrate after work. A sinking sensation in his stomach suggested that he might not be having the pleasure of James’ company tonight after all.

“Hmm,” Laura said.

“What does that mean? Hmm.”

“Nothing.”

Lewis sighed. “Sometimes you give James a run for his money in the enigmatic stakes, you know that?” he said exasperatedly.

“Oh, I don’t think I’d stand a chance, do you?”

“You’ve noticed it too, then? It’s not just me. Something’s going on with him.” Lewis had assumed he was working through something personal, that if he needed Lewis’ advice he’d come to him. James knew he could tell Lewis anything. Didn’t he? He trusted his sergeant-his friend–with his life; he’d assumed James felt the same way. But James had been moody lately, close-mouthed.

“He does seem even more reserved lately, now that you mention it,” Laura agreed. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“You know what he’s like. A clam’s got nothing on him when he’s like this.”

“Maybe you should try a different approach.”

“Funny you should mention it. I thought maybe you could talk to him?”

“Ah,” Laura said, a crease in her brow. “I don’t think I’m the right person,” she said, pensively.

“You’re a woman.”

“Very observant of you. You should be a detective,” she said, deadpan.

“I am one,” he said, mock-proudly. “They gave me a badge and all.”

Laura smiled, but more as if she was humouring him.

“You won’t talk to James?” Lewis tried again.

“It’s not that I won’t. I just don’t think he’d be interested in talking to me.”

“You get on well.”

“Not so well as you think,” Laura said, dryly.

“Has something happened?”

“Not that I’m aware of. For a while there we were–James seemed to be, I don’t know, opening up a bit, including me in that little circle of two of yours. Last year or so though, I don’t know, not so much.”

“He likes you.”

Laura shrugged. “I’m sure he does, as much as he likes anyone, you excepted of course.” She sat down behind her desk. “He’s very protective of you,” she said, reaching for a folder in her in-tray, not looking at him.

Ah. That situation last year, when Laura had been seeing that foreign bloke and hadn’t told him and James had got caught in the middle. No use telling the lad that Laura didn’t owe Lewis anything–that they weren’t like _that_. James seemed set on the idea that he and Laura would make a good couple and had stayed miffed at Laura for ages. He’d seemed to be over it though, was back to hinting–hell, outright saying–that Lewis should get his skates on about asking her out. He was a bloody contrary git sometimes. When Lewis had been keen, James had been downright sour about it; now Lewis was having second, hell, third and fourth thoughts about whether he wanted to risk ruining their friendship, James was the one suggesting he and Laura get together. There was no trying to understand what went on in that too-clever brain, sometimes. 

Lewis stretched his arm out. His sore muscles twinged, but Laura’s massage had done the trick, at least for now. As long as his shoulder wasn’t screaming at him, he could manage.

Laura sighed and closed her folder. “Have you tried just asking him what he wants?” she asked. “I mean, really?” 

“What he wants?” Lewis echoed.

Laura shrugged. “From his career… relationships… is he happy with the way his life is going?”

“I did suggest he needed someone one day, when he was having some sort of existential sulk. He didn’t exactly fall over himself to confide in me.”

Laura didn’t look impressed. “Is that all?”

“He doesn’t exactly welcome people prying into his personal life,” he pointed out defensively.

“You’re not people though, are you?”

“Aren’t I?”

“Your call,” Laura said matter-of-factly. “Are you his friend, or not?”

“Oh thanks,” Lewis said, “no pressure.” She was right though. He gave her another peck on the cheek. “Thanks, Laura.”

“Any time,” she said. “Now go sort out that partner of yours, will you.”

“I’ll do me best.”

Lewis didn’t know what he was expecting when he got back to the office–James in one of his moods maybe–and he was all set to have it out with him right there, if so, but it was worse than that. James greeted him with a polite smile, handed him his completed report, gave him a brisk rundown of what he was working on and all in all, behaved like a model sergeant.

Lewis couldn’t talk to this stranger.

Time dragged. Lewis sat at his desk, dutifully working through his own paperwork, finding his eyes frequently wandering towards the other desk to where James stared at his monitor, looking for all the world as though he was completely absorbed in his work. Hell, maybe he was. Once he looked over to catch James staring at him, but James looked away immediately. He found himself wishing for something, anything, to break the ice, but that was always the way–there was never a murder when you needed one. 

Lewis could feel himself getting frustrated, and strangely upset, with James, and with himself for letting the situation get out of hand. He’d thought they were past this. James wasn’t one for baring his soul exactly, but it’d been a long time since James had completely shut him out like this. Lewis found himself missing their easy comfort; it was something he’d come to rely on, he realised. He took a deep breath and let it out, throwing down the pen he’d been tapping against the edge of the desk. It bounced off the stapler and rolled off the edge. Lewis sighed and reached down to pick it up, gasping as pain lanced through his shoulder. He’d stiffened up again, sitting down so long, and _god_ , it was worse than before. He was afraid to move his shoulder at all.

“Sir?” James was by his side, his hands hovering near Lewis’ shoulder, his face drawn with concern.

“Give me a minute,” he gasped, ever so slowly easing back into a sitting position.

“Do you need a doctor? Is it your back again?”

“No, I pulled a muscle badly last night, moving some furniture. Laura reckons a few massages’ll do the trick.” Lewis thought he’d just sit where he was a while longer–as long as he kept still it didn’t hurt–then see about finding a proper masseur. Not like he could keep asking Laura.

James straightened up sharply and took a step back. Lewis looked up at him. James was looking at him oddly. “What?”

“That’s what you were doing before?”

“Huh? Oh, with Laura? Why, what did you think we were doing?”

James shrugged. He rubbed his hands over his face and turned away, shoulders hunched.

Lewis tried rotating his arm, but the pain stabbed through him again and he gave up. He looked over at James, who was leaning against his desk, bum parked on the edge, staring at Lewis in a meditative sort of way. Lewis raised an enquiring eyebrow and James blinked. “Sorry,” James said, glancing away. Lewis wasn’t sure what he thought he had to be sorry about, but he was grateful James seemed to have shaken off whatever dark mood he’d been in.

“Don’t ‘spose you know a good masseur, do you?” he asked hopefully.

The corners of James’ mouth turned up. “As a matter of fact….”

“Yes?”

James just looked at him. His smile widened.

Lewis rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I’ve even done a course.”

“Of course you have.”

“I think you’ll find my rates are competitive,” James said, looking at him from under his eyelashes.

Lewis relaxed, relieved at the return to their usual banter. “I’m sure something can be arranged.”

James shrugged again. “I don’t have any plans tonight. I could come over to yours later. If you trust me to do it, that is,” he said, more seriously. “I won’t be offended if you’d rather a professional.” 

“Of course I trust you, man,” Lewis said. “I was planning on suggesting going down the pub for a meal after work anyway–we’ll just grab takeaway instead.”

“You were?” James asked, sounding surprised.

Lewis stared at him. “Like we do most Fridays unless we’re working?”

James stood up. “I don’t know what I was thinking, sir,” he said, not looking at Lewis as he sat back down at his desk and reached for his mouse.

Lewis stared at him a moment longer, wondering what the hell was going through James’ head now, and then shrugged, winced, and opened his email.

They decided to try the new Chinese place that had only been open a few weeks, though long enough to have an online menu, apparently. James called in their order before they left the office, and Lewis gratefully stayed in the car while James braved the rain to run into the restaurant to pick up the food.

He found James an old sweatshirt to put on while James got out plates and forks and set the takeaway containers on the table. He watched James retrieve a bottle of red from the pantry without asking, and took a moment to appreciate how lucky he felt to have this man’s friendship, prickly moods and esoteric poetry and weird taste in music and all.

James only looked a little surprised when Lewis handed him the shirt and a towel. He turned away to peel off his wet shirt and towel dried himself while Lewis poured the wine. The shirt hung loosely on James, of course, but not overly so; it was from Lewis’ rugby days, soft with age and frayed around the neckline. He probably should have thrown it away years ago, but it held a lot of good memories. The blue looked good on James, Lewis noticed, as James took the wine from him, smiling warmly, their fingers brushing.

James asked about the logo on the shirt and Lewis found himself telling James all about how he’d got into rugby when he’d joined the force because his partner’s team were a man short one day and Dave had asked him to fill in. He’d ended up playing for them for something like five years before his transfer to Oxford. James seemed fascinated, and Lewis told him stories about the team’s glory days between bites, holding his fork awkwardly with his left hand, still reluctant to move the shoulder too much. It didn’t escape him that James was shooting him concerned glances.

After they finished eating Lewis got up to clear away the plates. James placed a hand on his arm, but withdrew it when Lewis looked at him in surprise. “I’ve got them,” James said. “You wouldn’t have any massage oil, by chance, would you? I didn’t think, before.” He sounded annoyed at himself.

“I do, as it happens,” Lewis said, surprised when James looked surprised. Admittedly, he hadn’t had any use for it in years, but didn’t most people keep this sort of thing to hand these days?

James started briskly clearing the table. “How do you want to do this?” he asked from the kitchen nook.

Lewis started to shrug, then winced. “I don’t know, you’re the expert–what do you think?”

“Well, you can either sit on a chair, or you can lie down on the bed.”

“Which is better?”

“Honestly, the bed. You can stretch out, and I can sit down. But it depends on whether you’d feel comfortable doing it that way.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

James looked at him and then shook his head, smiling slightly. “No reason,” he said, turning away. “Why don’t you go get ready; the washing up won’t take me long.”

It was only when Lewis had unearthed the dusty, half empty bottle of massage oil and put it down on the bedside table, and was unbuttoning his shirt that it sank in what James had been on about, asking him if he’d be comfortable doing it on the bed. “Oh,” he said, exhaling suddenly.

Still, it wasn’t like there was anything… untoward… going on here. This was purely therapeutic. The shriek of the pulled muscle as he tugged off his vest was a sharp reminder of that. After a moment he took off his belt too–he could hardly lie comfortably on his stomach with it digging in.

Still, Lewis felt self-conscious lying shirtless on his bed, waiting for James. Even the nagging ache in his shoulder didn’t make the whole thing seem less weird, and he’d just about decided to get up and go sit on a dining chair again when James came in. 

James didn’t seem to feel awkward or uncertain. He picked up the bottle of oil and sat down on the bed beside Lewis, his hip brushing Lewis’. Lewis watched him pour oil into his palm and put the bottle down and then James glanced up and caught his eye. He smiled, reassuringly, Lewis thought, then reached over and smoothed both palms across Lewis’ back. Lewis closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensation of warm hands massaging and kneading and easing the pain away.

Lewis was drifting, enjoying the sensation of James’ hands stroking along his sides, his arms, the nape of his neck. He was hazily aware that James was no longer really kneading the muscles–no need, all the tension was gone from his body. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed. James’ touch was gentle now, lingering. Lewis was floating, and then James ventured lower still, thumbs stroking under the waistband of his trousers, loose without the belt, over his coccyx, back and forth and Lewis was snapped back into the moment, because that had always been his sweet spot, and if he wasn’t already hard, he was getting there rapidly. He should tell James to stop right now. Instead he groaned and shifted to accommodate his-

The hands froze and then withdrew. Lewis stifled a groan of disappointment. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. James was staring at his hands as if he didn’t recognise them.

“James?”

“Fuck.” 

Lewis smiled wryly. “Not up to your usual standards of eloquence but to the point, I suppose,” he murmured, because it looked like denial wasn’t going to be an option here.

James didn’t seem to hear him. “I didn’t know,” he said, as if to himself.

Lewis rolled over with and sat up with only a bit of effort. “What didn’t you know?” he said, refusing to look down to see whether his erection was as visible as he thought it probably was.

James looked at him, his eyes somehow distant. “I’ve been behaving like a jealous idiot, I see that now.”

Ah.

Actually, in light of… recent events… James’ behaviour did seem to make sense, pushing Lewis towards Laura one minute, being a bit of a shit about it the next. Still, given Lewis’ own response, maybe this thing between them had been under the surface for a long time. They’d both been blind idiots. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Lewis said, deciding he wasn’t going to dwell on why he himself wasn’t more bothered about this sudden revelation.

“I owe Dr Hobson an apology.”

“If it’ll make you feel better.”

“I owe _you_ an apology.”

“No. You don’t.”

“You trusted me and I was touching you and it may have started out innocently enough, but what I just did then, I was tempted, and I should have stopped, as soon as I–” James was babbling. Lewis hesitated, and then closed his hands gently over James’, twisting together in his lap. James’ mouth snapped shut, and he stared down at Lewis’s hands, holding his own still. “I didn’t know,” James repeated miserably.

Lewis took a deep breath. “Neither did I.”

“How could you, when I didn’t?”

“I’m not talking about you.”

James’ eyes flew up to meet his. “What?”

“It’s not just you, is it.”

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?" Lewis asked pointedly.

James flickered down to his lap and then up again, his eyes wide and disbelieving. “Oh,” he breathed.

Lewis smiled wryly. “We’re a fine pair.”

James smiled back at him shakily.

“Right,” Lewis said, summoning his courage, “I guess the question is, what do we do now?”

James took a deep breath. “What do you want to do?”

“I asked you first,” Lewis said, knowing how childish he sounded.

“The right thing to do would be to forget about this. If we did… do something… and anyone found out, you’d get in trouble.”

 _You’d_ get in trouble, James had said. As though it didn’t matter what happened to _him._

“I’m only a year or two off retirement,” Lewis pointed out. “To be honest, I couldn’t give a rat’s arse about what anyone thinks.”

“Oh,” James said again. His hands flexed in Lewis’ grasp and Lewis let go reluctantly. “I can’t believe you’re taking this so calmly.”

“One thing I’ve learned–from Val, even your friend Will–is that life’s too short to throw away love. No matter what shape it comes in.”

“Love?” James repeated, somewhat faintly.

“It might all be a moot point, anyway,” Lewis said, struck with sudden qualms. Just because they’d got a bit het up during a massage, didn’t necessarily mean anything. Lewis hadn’t been touched so intimately in a very long time, and James had always been the reserved type, so maybe Lewis was fooling himself, maybe it had just been a result of the relaxed atmosphere, of them both being lonely. 

“Sir?”

“Robbie,” Lewis corrected. “I think it’s past time, don’t you?” His arousal had subsided, and James was looking at him dubiously. Lewis’ heart sank. “If you’d rather not–” He started to get up, suddenly awkward with embarrassment.

“No, don’t,” James said, sharply and put his hand on Lewis’ arm, as if to hold him in place. “Robbie,” he said and then stopped and looked at Lewis mutely.

“Ah, hell,” Lewis said, and cupped James’ face with his hands and drew him in and kissed him, just a tentative brush of lips at first, and then, when he didn’t object, a proper kiss. James’ eyes drifted closed and he tilted his head when Lewis deepened the kiss. For a minute Lewis couldn’t help wondering if James was just humouring him, because James was just letting Lewis do this, he wasn’t really getting into the spirit of the thing. Lewis started to pull away, then James gasped suddenly, a deep gulping breath, and seized him by the arms. Lewis was pushed back down against the pillows. James was taking control of the kiss now; James was climbing on top of him and no, it didn’t look like sex was going to be the deal-breaker here after all, because Lewis wasn’t minding being manhandled at all, if the way his body was responding was any indication, his prick hardening fast, leaving him light-headed, giddy with sensation. 

James was hard too. James was grinding against him, kissing his mouth, his ear, his neck, one hand reaching down to fumble their trousers open and as fetching as James looked in Lewis’ shirt, Lewis was feeling the need to even things up. He grabbed at the bottom of the shirt, pushing it up under James’ armpits impatiently. James seemed to realise what he was trying to do and reared up, his arse planted firmly on Lewis’ erection. He stripped off the shirt and threw it carelessly aside, staring down at Lewis, blue eyes practically glowing. He leant down again, eyes fixed on Lewis’ mouth, but Lewis put a hand on James’ chest, halting him. He hooked his fingers under James’ waistband and tugged. James’ eyes blazed suddenly and he scrambled backwards, off of Lewis, off of the bed and he was shoving his trousers and pants off, and after a clear second of indecision, his socks. Then he was leaning over Lewis, who’d only just thought to get the rest of his own kit off and had lifted his hips to work his trousers down. James grabbed them and stripped them off and was on him again, and it was even better, the feeling of skin on skin. James obviously thought so too; James seemed to be trying to touch him everywhere at once, his hands skimming over Lewis’ sides, pinching his nipples which made Lewis flinch, leaning down to soothe each one in turn, which made Lewis moan, because he’d always liked his tits being played with. He was trying to touch James in turn, his hands sliding over smooth skin, finding purchase on James’ narrow arse, grabbing him and pulling James against him. James moaned and pushed his face into Lewis’ neck. James was panting hard against him, his legs sliding apart, his thighs cradling Lewis’ hips, his prick pushing, sliding against Lewis’ belly.

Lewis was between James’ legs, and Lewis was leaking now, he was so hard. He had only a hazy, lust-filled idea of what he was doing. He was trying to thrust, but it wasn’t working; he needed something more, and he somehow remembered the oil on the bedside table and stretched out an arm, James shifting up, giving him room to move. Lewis grabbed the bottle and tipped it clumsily. His hand was full of oil, dripping with it, and he looked up at James, who was staring down at him with wide, wide eyes. James knelt up. He took Lewis’ oily hand and closed it around Lewis’ prick, staring at him, his eyes burning, and god, the sight of him, lost to common sense, obviously, because James was shifting, accommodating, positioning Lewis. The head of his prick was pushing against James’… it was giving way, yielding, and James’ face was drawn, tense, a mask of concentration as he pushed down. Holy _hell_ , Lewis hadn’t meant _this_ , it was too soon, they weren’t being _safe_. “James, no,” he gasped, but James wasn’t listening. “James, stop,” he said, and then, feeling ridiculous, “Sergeant Hathaway,” and James stopped. For long moments they stared at each other.

“We can’t,” Lewis said, roughly.

James stared at him blindly for long moments, panting harshly. Slowly his eyes cleared. “Fuck,” he said again.

“Not today,” Lewis said. “We’re not ready.”

James’ mouth crooked. “We’re probably the two cleanest blokes in England,” he said. He arched a pointed eyebrow. “Unless there’s something you haven’t told me.”

“Get away with you,” Lewis said, relieved that the James he knew was back with him. “I didn’t mean just that, and you know it.”

“I want this,” James said, and there was stain of red across his cheekbones. He was holding himself still. Lewis was throbbing with the urge to just grab James’ hips and pull him down onto him, to hell with the consequences. The way James was looking at him, his eyes feverish–Lewis wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that it was this easy, but this was James, a man of a million regrets already. Lewis didn’t want to be one of them.

“There’s no hurry, love,” he made himself say. “We’ll get there.” James was shaking his head. Lewis reached up, wrapped his fingers gently behind James’ neck. “C’mere,” he murmured. James fell forward onto him and buried his face in Lewis’ neck again. Lewis stroked his back soothingly. After a while James raised his head, smiling crookedly, and kissed him again. Then, after some elbows in awkward places later, James was propped along his side, their pricks in his grasp, both of them watching as their heads appeared and disappeared into his fist, precome leaking over James’ hand as he jerked them both. Lewis would never have imagined that the sight, the feel of another prick against his could be so hot, but the pressure was building behind his balls. He was getting close. It was overwhelming; he needed to be with James in this. He reached up to touch James’ face. James turned his face to him and kissed him urgently. James’ whole body shuddered as he orgasmed, his grasp tightening and releasing him and they were still kissing when Lewis’ own orgasm burst out of him, the sheer intensity of it shaking him to the core.

“Your boy’s looking happier these days,” Laura commented, a few weeks later.

“You think?” Lewis squinted over to where James was leaning over the bar, saying something to the barman that made the man smile. God, his arse in those jeans. Lewis felt the now familiar stirring of arousal that just looking at James inspired him if he didn’t watch himself, and shifted uncomfortably in the seat, determined to ignore it. James seemed to feel their eyes on him; he looked over and flashed them a grin, before turning to pick up the three pints that had appeared in front of him.

“Whatever you said seems to have worked.”

“We sorted some things out.”

“He came and apologised for, what was it, ‘being a bit of a bastard’?”

Lewis smiled into his glass as he took a sip. 

“I felt a bit bad for him actually; it’s not like he did anything wrong.”

Lewis shook his head. “He felt he needed to.”

“Well, I’m glad, whatever’s changed. He deserves some happiness.”

“Aye.” That was something Lewis could wholeheartedly agree with.

James loomed over them, bending to slide the drinks onto the table. He dropped into his chair and immediately slouched so that his bum slid forward on the chair and his leg pressed against Lewis’ under the table. Lewis gave him a reproving look but didn’t move his leg away. James smiled sunnily at him.

“My ears were burning,” James said.

“All good,” Laura assured him.

“I should think so,” James said blithely. 

They’d talked about what to tell Laura. Lewis figured if anyone deserved to know the truth it was her. James was being stubborn, though. Lewis couldn’t believe how protective James was of him, of his reputation, his _honour_ , James said seriously. Well, if James needed time, he’d have it. Lewis wasn’t going anywhere.

Laura had chosen a table near the fire, which was crackling merrily and throwing off a lot of heat, probably more than it would have if it had been a real one, instead of one of those modern, allegedly more environmentally friendly fake ones. He and Laura had already shed their winter layers, so he wasn’t surprised when James stood up again, looped his jacket over the back of his chair, and then with an unreadable glance at Lewis, stripped off his jumper and tossed it on the back of the chair too. He sat down again, his sprawled pose so casual it had to be an act. Lewis was taking a swig of beer when it registered what James had on, and he choked on a sudden surprised inhalation.

“Tyneside Terriers?” Laura read out loud, and looked at James enquiringly.

“I’m a rugby fan,” James said blandly.

Lewis snorted into his Guinness. “Since when?” he muttered, and watched James try to repress his grin.

Laura’s eyes darted from James to him and back again, obviously wondering what she was missing.

“No really,” James insisted, “I’m very fond of... rugby.”

Well, if that wasn’t permission, he didn’t know what was. Lewis took a deep breath. “Team I used to play for, back in the day,” he explained. “Long since gone bye-the-bye.”

Laura stared at him, and then slowly turned to look at James again. He could see her take in the age of the shirt, the frayed edges, the fact that it wasn’t really something someone who cared about their appearance–someone like James– would wear out in public, unless it had some special meaning. Last of all, he saw her take in the expression on James’ face. James was looking desperately casual, the tension fairly radiating from him, and Lewis saw Laura’s face soften in understanding.

“Well then,” she said smiling at them both. “Next round’s on me. You can tell me all about… rugby.”

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit is always welcome, and please feel free to point out errors. Also, I haven't had a chance to rewatch the show so if I've accidentally stolen lines, please let me know :)


End file.
